Poetic License
by Qalets
Summary: Small town boy meets small town boy, as Will is invited to attend the finals of a poetry competition and runs into Jack McPhee Dawsons Creek , heartache ensues. Dislcaimer: I own neither show!
1. Chapter 1 - Racing Through the Darkness

To all those predominantly Dawsons' fans I'd like to apologise for my lack of knowledge of the final series of the show. My story is set just before the group go off to university, however Tobey and Jack have already split up… I'm trying to get away with calling it poetic license of my own, but I don't think it will work!

Poetic License

JACK

"So Jack, if I could grant you one request right at this moment, what would it be?"

        I paused to consider it.

        "That the best thing that ever happened to me walks through that door…"

        As is obvious following such a comment an expectant silence covered us both as we watched the door for the promised earth-shattering event. Nothing happened.

        Such was our evening. And, in keeping with the themes of the night, such was our lives.

        Jen and I had spent most of the evening simmering. We were having one of those typical adolescent-female conversations, an "I hate males" and "All men are pigs" kinda' conversation that I had been promoted into not long before. To put it simply, I came out. Not that every reader of this piece won't already know that, news travels fast in a small town.

        So, one messy outing and two failed relationships later I'm sat here, with my best friend, a bag of popcorn, two finished films and a stupid wish.

        "Well that was disappointing..." Jen finally spoke, interrupting my preoccupied musings. Perhaps I was going quietly insane.

        "What did you really expect?" 

        "Well, I don't know, but it would have been interesting if something had happened, even Grams walking in would have meant a bit of hilarity. I think I might be beginning to lose faith in my good fairy abilities"

        I smiled "I think I'm the only good fairy in the room" and she laughed, batting me playfully with the pillow she had clasped in her lap.

        "Well okay then, but no hogging the tiara"

        The next morning a letter arrived on my bedside table, having been carried over the threshold of my room by a certain (joint) good fairy. I was sleeping on its arrival, but opened it an hour later when roused from slumber due to a television being rudely cranked up to full volume in the room next door -also belonging to the aforementioned fairy.

        _Dear Sir_

It read

        _We are delighted to announce to you that your poem entitled "Today" has been accepted for the International Young Poet of the Year Award finals_ _to be held on the 14th of June this year._

_        It would do us great pleasure if you were to attend the award ceremony personally to read aloud your poem to the judges and 4 other finalists. This year the ceremony is to be held in the National Institute of the English Language in London and I am happy to enclose one first class ticket with this letter in order for you to attend._

_        We look forward to your being there…_

WILL

_"Yours sincerely. Edward D Brown -Competition chairperson." _Numbly I finished speaking and refolded the paper, slipping it back into the cream, London-postmarked envelope that had arrived jammed into the edge of my mirror that morning. Finn had included no note with the package, but it was obvious who it was from.

"Wow! That's great man! Well done!" Scout jumped up form his bed, immediately animated, before slowly allowing his face to drop on catching sight of my own: "That is great isn't it?"

"Finn never asked if he could enter me for this"

"What's that got to do with it?" Best friends can often pick up that _something_ is wrong; it is not often, however, that you can find someone who understands _why_ it is wrong.

"He mentioned something about a competition, but I never thought he'd go ahead and enter me for it without asking first"

"Surely that doesn't matter now! You won- or you're on your way to! You should be thanking him"

"The poem was private Scout, he should never have done something like this without asking me first!" Numbness finally subsiding I allowed my anger to fill the void it left, and without another word, turned and exited the room.

"You had no right to do this" Cut scene, Finns office, me, stood before his desk, waving an opened envelope dramatically at him across the piles of papers he was marking. 

"What's the matter Will?" His serenity was infuriating.

"That's the matter" With one smooth motion I slapped the envelope down hard on the Shakespeare essay he'd been reading when I'd first entered. 

In true Finn style for five whole seconds he did nothing, calming the situation without a word, before slowly raising his gaze from the envelope back to me, one eyebrow raised in readiness.

"Open it" I prompted, calmer now.

He did as he was told, handling the envelope and its contents as if they were made of fine glass. 

I hate that feeling of standstill that washes over you when waiting for someone to finish reading something, something important to you. Lost in the world of the letter, or the poem, you have handed them they are no longer aware of your existence, stood, only a pace or so away from them, behind the flimsy sheet of paper. During those long minutes you have no idea what to do with yourself, stand and wait? Sit and act cool? Leave? When I'd handed him the sheet of paper that held my soon-to-be competition finalist entry of the International Young Poet of the Year Award I had done the latter, leaving him alone in his office to read it through. It had been a homework assignment, one I had avoided reading out in class like the others in the room by neatly "forgetting it" that morning, instead I handed it to him late, passing it across this very desk, into the hands of the only person I wished to read it. And he'd disobeyed my trust.

"This is wonderful, Will" With the final words read he broke me free from my literary deadlock, a smile on his face "I'd almost forgotten about it,"

"You never asked my permission"

"Well, I didn't think I had to, that was an amazing piece Will, you didn't think I'd be able to keep it to myself did you?"

"I trusted you,"

"And I could never, as a teacher, have let that assignment leave my office without letting it be sent out into the world." A pause in which I contemplated what the hell I could say in response "Literature is a beautiful thing Will, why do you think I devoted my life to teaching it? It's not to spend it with you kids I can tell you" The laughter in his voice was becoming infectious "It was an English poet, Philip Larkin, who said: 'What I want the readers to carry away from the poem in their minds is not the poem, but the experience' I experienced your poem Will, and the emotion was strong, I couldn't let that slip away with merely an A and a pat on the back, it had to go further, I had to allow others to experience the emotions I had. You have talent, Will, don't ignore it"

JACK 

Silently the train glided into the station. Faces forming, blurred beside the windows as it slowed, before gaining feature and detail as it came to a standstill. The same monotonous beep that had signaled the last station and the last warned passengers that the heavy metal doors that punctuated the sides of the train were opening, allowing a fresh wave of faces to enter the carriage and wrestle with each other for the privilege of the final seats, before the train set off and the cycle began again.     

        "The nest station is Marble Arch. Please mind the gap. Change for the Jubilee Line. We are sorry to announce..."

        The underground. There is no other place on earth that condenses so much human nature into such a small space. The need for monotony, routine, constant reminders on safety, position, times, and the bizarre habit of shying away from conversation or contact within a crowded train, so packed with commuters they cannot help but brush each others arms and legs on occasion. 

        Mentally we are all encased in our own train, pressed against those we would rather not be touching, racing through the darkness to destination unknown until announced in a polite and emotionless voice over the tannoy. Our train is often delayed or broken down, and occasionally a break in the organisation will cause a derailment or crash, but it rarely strays from the inevitable path, Kings Cross to Warren Street to Oxford Circus... You get my drift.

        So, I hear you ask, what is the reason for all this silent philosophical reflection? Surely there must be some plan behind all this random babble and why, I hear the less observant of you cry, the sudden appearance of a train within a tail that seems to be merely about the depth of human angst and teenage melodrama? Well, for those of you who haven't been able to keep up today is the 12th of June. Two days before my appearance in front of a group of strangers to endure the same torture I had been put through over a year earlier when I stood up in class in front of those who I knew, and who knew me, to unwillingly step out of my proverbial closet.

        "You look anxious dear," A voice opposite pulled me from my mental ramblings, a smile gently wiping itself across my face as I realised I had been wrong- not all of us shy away from human contact. The voice who had addressed me was owned by a small, frail old lady, fitting every stereotype I think I've ever known, hands clasped through a grey, aging purse on a flowered-frocked lap, bright lip-sticked mouth smiling expectantly from beneath an elaborately decorated hat. 

            "Yeah, pretty anxious" She smiled, waiting for me to go on, my American accent didn't seem to faze her in the slightest "I've just been accepted as a finalist for this competition I didn't even know I'd entered, I'm going to my interview now" The interviews were new, something sprung on us once I'd got used to the idea that I might actually attend this thing after all.

I don't think I need tell you how I managed to be here it's so startlingly obvious: Jen. Everything can be explained in three harmless little letters. 

        "That's quite a tale," The old woman continued from opposite me, preventing me from continuing with my mental story "Congratulations" She smiled a kind of smile that meant it was impossible for me not to reply with one.

        "Thanks"

        "Well, this is my stop dear, I wish you all the luck" I watched as she laboriously hauled herself off the tread-bare seat, frail hand gripping the railing by her side with such force her knuckles turned white.

        "Thank you, I think I'll need it"

        "You'll do fine dear, absolutely fine" And I was left wondering whether fine would be enough.

WILL 

        I still wasn't used to the feeling that spread across your stomach as the train pulls into a station. Emerging from its gloomy tunnel into the bright sterile-tiled stations, faces next to the window gently fading into focus like the end of a movie in reverse. Each time those same movements were repeated I couldn't help noticing how many people lined the platforms, how many faces hung beside the window that I had never known or seen before, and how familiarly alien they all looked, in a place so far from home. Perhaps it wasn't just the motion of the train that was giving me butterflies, perhaps I was having to come to terms with the frightened 16 year old I really was.

        New places often have this effect on me. Especially when these new places happen to be twice as big and frightening as the old ones and thousands of miles apart. Here I did not have the comfort of my friends to help me across the busy road junctions, or through the confusing, hamster style halls of the underground. This world was one apart from the world of New Rawley. Moving down the road to attend the private school I thought I'd never enter was a picnic compared to this, at least then I'd always had the comfort of home just around the corner –it may not have been welcoming, but it was somewhere to run to.

        Where did I run to now?

        "Southbound Station: Leicester Square, Charring Cross, Embankment" Quickly I ran my eyes down the list of unfamiliar names, wondering what the hell I'd got myself into.

        "You look as lost as I feel" A voice beside me, I glanced up nervously, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of my confusion. I'd never felt more like a tourist.

JACK 

        I'd recognised him from the flight, he'd been sat three places ahead of me, across the isle, walkman plugged into a personal CD player hidden from view as he read the paperback spread out on the folding table, head bobbing to the beat.

        I don't know what possessed me to go and talk to him, perhaps it had been the old woman on the train, and the way she seemed to have filled we with confidence about the up and coming interviews. Perhaps I wanted to pass on that confidence to this other person, someone who was, I assumed, doing the same thing I was. Lost in a strange country, confused, nervous and lonely.

        The face that met my friendly comment was that of confusion, icy blue eyes glancing over to meet mine in the shock that came from being addressed familiarly in such unfamiliar surroundings. It took him a few seconds to regain his manners, shaking his head slightly and cracking a smile when it was obvious I wasn't going to go away any time soon.

        "Yeah, sorry…how did you know?" His familiar American lilt did not surprise me.

        "Know what?" I'd honestly forgotten the question.

        "That I'm lost"

        I smiled "You were looking at that map as if it were written in a foreign language"

        "For all you know it could have been" He was smiling now, glad to have found a kindred spirit amongst the bustle of unfamiliar voices.

        "Good point" A moment of comradely silence, "It's the wrong map by the way"

        "It is?" Genuinely confused he moved his gaze from my face, turning back to the map in question.

        "That's where we've just been" I motioned to the top of the map before turning and waving a hand at the menagerie of red signs pointing in the same direction, "My guess is you'll need to follow the signs to the central line"    

        I watched as a bolt of realisation crossed his face "How did you know I needed the central line?" He asked after a moment.

"It's the only place you can go from this station, except out of course"

        As if on cue we both caught each other's eye, a smile, before we both turned and walked side-by-side down the tunnel indicated.

WILL 

        "So you do this often?" I asked, neither of us seemed to be in a hurry to get the other go, it felt good to find someone who seemed almost as out of place as I did.

        "Do what?" I tried to tell myself that the reason I kept asking such open-ended questions wasn't because I wanted to hear that voice again.

        "Pick up lost and lonely guys at the side of subways"

        He laughed, a laugh that lit up his face, and shook his head slowly, 

        "We're in England, its "underground" not "subway""

        "I stand corrected" I lifted my hands in mock surrender.

        "But no, I don't make a habit of it"

        "I should be honoured then"

        "Perhaps you should"

        I was aware that I was flirting, and for some reason it didn't seem to bother me. What did knock me back slightly, I realised as my eyes met his once again, what that he was flirting back.

"So who are you anyway?" I suddenly asked, wanting to end the moment, not quite sure whether I was prepared enough to deal with it. He laughed, 

        "I was wondering when that question would come up. I'm Jack" He stuck out a hand, and I took it, 

        "Will"

        "Let me guess, finalist of the International Young Poet of the Year Competition?" 

        I smiled, "You too huh?"

        "Guilty" Now it was his turn to hold up his hands, as we stepped forward onto the escalator, faces upturned towards the new platform.

        "So do you have some kind of poet-dar then?" 

        From a step below him I watched as he laughed, eyes lighting up, perfect mouth upturned over perfect teeth "Poet-dar? You mean like gay-dar but more literary?"

        "Yeah, exactly what I mean" I was laughing too now, conscious of how close we had to stand amid the bustle of commuters and tourists, 

        "Not to my knowledge" He smiled "But for all I know it could be genetic"

        "So what your saying is it was written in your genes that you were going to pick me up on the side of the _underground_…" 

"And I guess that _is_ what I'm trying to say" His self-assuredness was catching and unnervingly attractive

        "So other than your genetic poet-dar, how _did_ you know what I was?"

        He raised his eyebrow, a smile on his face, and mentally I backtracked over the line, quickly realising how it may have sounded.

        "A poet I mean"

"Ahh," He laughed, "obviously your literary pose"

Now it way my turn to laugh, 

"Okay, okay, maybe it was just the fact that I saw you on the flight over, and then again at the station, and then again when I got on the train, and finally stood looking lost at that map"

"Ahh, clever, and by your superior powers of deduction you realised…"        

"…I'd got myself a stalker"

He smirked and I laughed, I seemed to be doing a lot of that since I'd met him.

"Nah, it was pretty easy to put two and two together and get a poet" We stepped off the top of the escalator and both cast around for the direction of the platform "Straight ahead" He said after a while, noticing the sign before I did, and I shook my head as I followed him, wondering if he knew the irony in his words 

JACK 

        "So tell me a bit about yourself Will" I asked after we'd staked our claim to two seats on an almost deserted central line train and settled ourselves for the 4 stop journey. I still wasn't certain what I was doing talking to, and flirting with -I duly noted- this guy. It had been a long time since I'd done this –met a person and completely put myself out there for them. Perhaps he wasn't conscious that he was flirting with me, or that I was flirting back, perhaps this was simply the way he spoke to people, perhaps this was all in my mind.

        "What's there to say?" He smiled "Interesting things that have happened to me lately," He paused for a moment, deep in thought, before speaking, ticking the two things off on his fingers as he said them "1) being shipped off to a foreign country to recite a poem to a bunch of strangers and 2) being picked up on a train platform by a tall, dark handsome guy with genetic poet-dar" Okay, perhaps the flirting wasn't imagined. 

        "I meant at home," I couldn't help smiling.

        "Well, I go to Rawley School…"

        "Hey, I've heard of that place, pretty pricey"

        "Yeah, but don't get the wrong impression, I'm on a scholarship, I grew up in New Rawley, so really I'm a townie in disguise"

        "So what does everyone think of that?"

        "What?"

        "A townie kid at a public school?"

        "Hmm, well to cut a long story short its been a lot to get used to, but I think I'm settling in okay" For a moment there was silence, a silence in which I paused to contemplate exactly why I was so interested "Why am I telling you this? You're not interested, I only just met you!"

        I laughed, his ability to read my mind was becoming unsettling.

        "No, I'm interested" I caught his eye, before losing what was left of my nerve "So how'd you get caught up in this competition?"

        "My English teacher," A look crossed his face that I didn't want to have to interpret "He entered me without asking my permission"

        "Sounds familiar,"

        "You too?" He raised an eyebrow, 

        "Yeah, my best friend, she, she entered my poem without asking me, which wasn't the nicest thing she could have done, it had some pretty private thoughts in it…" Yeah, pretty private thoughts I'd managed to share with just about the entire school -but that last bit I didn't say.

        "I know what you mean, its gonna be really hard standing up and saying it in front of all these strangers"

        "At least they're strangers…" The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them, but thankfully this Will obviously knew enough about human emotion to realise it was a touchy subject and met the comment with only another raise of his left eyebrow.


	2. Chapter 2 - Brighter Shade of a Person

WILL 

"So would you like to tell the panel a bit about your poem?" Finally he'd cut the crap, and were we stood peering over the edge of his point. There was nothing I could do to stop my stomach doing a series of somersaults inside my body; it was this that I had been dreading. What was there to say? Surely this poem, that bared my very soul to these four strangers, had already said enough?

The interviewer picked up on my unease

"Lets start from the beginning, tell us about the title, it's a rather strange one I seem to remember"
    
              "Well," I cleared my throat; trying to remind myself yet again that it was just a poem "I've always thought the title is the most important part of the poem and sometimes the most interesting, if you let it." And I was off, I could almost hear Finn's words in my mind as I spoke, "When I first started writing my poem I just sat down and wrote the first thing that came into my mind, and that was the word "alone". But after I'd followed it with the first draft of what you have in front of you it felt just felt so... lifeless, it started to sound more like something you see multitudes of 13-year old girls writing in an attempt to grapple with all their lip-gloss teenage angst, than how I was really feeling" I smiled and got a grunted laugh from two of the judges at the table in front of me in return. "So that was the first thing I changed. It's a complicated poem, emotionally if not structurally and I didn't think such a simple title suited it well."

"So how did you come up with the title _Ad-rift_?" The interviewer prompted me as I slowed down,

"I wanted something that reflected the confusion of the poem, the fact that on first glance it seems to be about this lost and confused boy, out on his own, but on closer inspection is about something deeper than that, about pain and rejection and alienation from those we love. Adrift seemed the obvious choice to cover the first impression of the poem as it linked in with my sea imagery as well as my original "lonely" idea. But adding the depth was much harder, it was a while before I realized by adding a hyphen I created two words -the second word "rift" reflecting what I consider the most important line of the poem -even though its inserted inconspicuously within the body of the text: _"Though you do not lay here"_ "

There was silence for a moment while the interviewer seemed to confirm that I'd finished.

"Well, you obviously feel extremely strongly about this poem, but what was it that caused you to write it?"

"It was an English assignment actually, Finn, our teacher, told us to go away and write about what we were feeling at the precise moment we picked up the pen." I paused for a moment, trying to decide whether I should go on, before doing so "I did it that night, listening to my roommate sleep"

The interviewer nodded, before, much to my relief, choosing to pick up on a previous point.

"So you have a good relationship with your teacher then?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You addressed him by his first name for a start"

I smiled, "Yeah, he was actually the one that entered me for this competition, I wasn't really too happy about it when I found out though"

"Oh?" 

"My poem's pretty...close to the heart, I wasn't so happy about the thought of a lot of people -strangers- reading it. It kinda feels like I walked into this room naked earlier, you all knew so much about me..."

The interviewer and half the judges smiled, I'd won them over.

JACK

"So I hear this poem has quite the history," The interviewer asked, after we'd glossed over the pleasantries.

I gave him a quizzical look, before regaining my manners "Well, yes it does, but, if can ask, how do you know about that?"

The interviewer looked up from the piece of paper he'd been studying, one I assumed had held my poem, "Were you not aware that along with your poem we received a letter, sent my a Miss Jennifer Lindley"

"No, I wasn't aware" I spoke through partly clenched teeth.

"It's a quite lovely letter," He came to her defence "Here" And he passed me his copy:

_To whom this may concern_

_On receiving an application form for your competition through my school I decided to apply in place of a friend, who I believe would gain a great deal from the recognition of his poem._

_I need not go on about the merits of the poem itself, for I have enclosed a copy with the application form as instructed and will let you be the judge of it from a more literary viewpoint._

_The reason for this letter is the more human aspect of the poem, which I think you should be aware of in order to judge it accordingly. Jack, the author of the piece and one of my closest friends, wrote this poem entitled _"Today" _for an English assignment after a friend instructed him to:** "**_Listen to yourself_"He then, against all__ parameters__ of the said assignment, was forced to present the poem to the class rather then hand it in with the others. Leading to much drama, heartache and ridicule for Jack and all involved._

_However through all this rough time he was able to stay strong and managed to emerge from the storm, not a changed person, but a brighter shade of the person he and been before._

_He was an example for us all and although I know I may rip open old wounds with the submission of this poem, I feel it is my duty to do so, in order for others to experience the emotion and strength of a mind I now__ recognise__ in my best friend._

_Yours faithfully_

_Jennifer Lindley_

I must confess I looked up from the pages with a hint of a tear in my eye.

"The board would, however, like you to realise that it was certainly not on the strength of the letter alone that you have reached the finals of our competition, it is a very moving and thought-provoking poem, one that ourselves and Jennifer, obviously, felt was worthy of recognition"

I was speechless. For a moment I sat completely still, cradling the sheet of paper that Jen must have been planning, what? months? before I could be sat there facing this panel of judges, all of whom were singing my praises. I cleared my throat.

"Well, thank you..." there was nothing more I could say

"I must say, your circumstances are very similar to the last applicant we interviewed… Will Krudski" The moment he said his name my mind flashed back to the few minutes before as I watched him emerge from this very room, a wide grin on his face as he caught my eye. I couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, we've met actually,"****

"Oh that's good, it will be nice to have a fellow American with you through the next few days"

I only smiled and nodded.

"Right, so lets move back onto your poem..."

"So how did it go?" I was surprised to find Will curled catlike in the seat I had vacated when I left the room.

"Fine actually, yeah, I think it went okay" He matched my smile as I spoke.

 "Great, then we'll have to go celebrate" He jumped up off the chair with more enthusiasm than was normal in someone who'd just traveled over 3000 miles in one day.

"I take it yours was also a success"

"Absolutely and completely" that smile again "Where do you think we can go to get something nice to eat round here then?"

WILL 

        The National Institute of the English Language was a small building, tucked away quietly from the hustle and bustle of the city not far from the Marble Arch tube station. It was there, once we emerged through the plate glass ornate doors, that I now headed, Jack my by side, a successful interview under my belt and a smile on my face.

        "You know this city isn't half as scary as it was when I first arrived" I noted, subtly trying to catch Jack's eye as he walked by my side, watching his feet as they strode out in front of him.      

        "Perhaps its lack of sleep that dissolves apprehension" He said with a bitter smile, more amused than annoyed "We have been on the go since about 8 o'clock this morning,"

        "Yeah, but according to us it was 3 o'clock in the afternoon at the time" I smiled, knowing I'd beaten him "Well, you know, there is no law to say you _have _to be here" We'd reached the tube station now and proceeded through the turn-styles, inserting our passes (given to us before the interview on check-in at the hotel) and gaining them back again at the other side. "The hotel's just a few stops in that direction" I motioned to the opposite direction to the one I was headed.

        "Who died and made you king of the underground?" He said with a laugh, following me "Where's this scared little rich kid I found staring doggedly at the wrong map?"

        My eyes hardened at his words, they may have been said with good intent, but he'd obviously caught the wrong end of the stick.

        "I told you, I'm not a rich kid," I said through clenched teeth

         "You go to New Rawley School, same difference"

        We were nearing the bottom of the escalator now, me stood on the step below him as he had been positioned the first time we had met, him above me. Perhaps it was a sign; perhaps we were doomed to fall into these positions of power, him first, then me.

        "No," I corrected him, immediately, walking away from him to catch the train that had just pulled into the station, " Polar opposites"

JACK 

        For a moment, I watched him leave, confused. Head spinning from the speed of the argument I didn't know I was having. _Touchy subject, _I told myself, finally regaining my senses and rushing after him through the crowd. He wasn't on the platform, but once I boarded the train I realised he hadn't been able to move far up the carriage, the late commuter rush having meant weaving his way through the crowd would have been impossible. It also made sure that there were no seats available, so he had had to stand, lent against a railing, studying the poster on the side of the train with what he hoped was a resolute look on his face. I smiled at the sight.

        "Touchy subject?" I asked, drawing alongside him and ducking my head to enter his line of vision. His face softened slightly as my eyes caught his.

        "Yeah," A pause "Look, I'm sorry, it's just exactly the kind of attitude I've been trying to get away from this past year or so. People just kinda assume I'm this spoilt little rich kid with the entire world at his feet just cause I go to this great school, and that is so not the case"

        "Hey," I held up my hands "I'm sorry. I know what its like to be a townie you know, we might not have the ivy league school on our back-stoop rubbing our noses in it, but we're pretty off the beaten track"

        "Where _do_ you come from?" He asked after a moment, curious.

        "Capeside," From the look on his face he hadn't heard of it "It's this little town by a creek, just, you know, small town America"

        "Ahh, white-picket fences and all that?"

        "Yeah I guess you could say that, although most of them will probably have faded over the years and are falling apart, waiting for some townie kid to come along and be paid to fix 'em"

        He laughed, "How did you know that's exactly what I'd be spending my summer doing if I wasn't at Rawley?"

        "'Cause that's what I do all summer, that and painting houses" I smiled "We have a lot in common you and I"

        At that moment the train began its journey, propelling its entire contents backward slightly as it began to accelerate, which pushed him gently up against me, our eyes meeting for the uncountable time that day.

        "I suppose we do" Was his gentle reply. 

WILL         "So tell me a bit about Capeside then" After our short exchange on the train we'd set about deciding on a place to eat, quickly settling on Leicester square, famous for its restaurants, cafes, cinemas, theatres and generally places of entertainment. It then wasn't long before we found ourselves settled in a window table in a quiet little café on the corner of Charring Cross Road. 

            "Hmm, not a huge amount to tell really. I moved there with my sister and father about two years ago. Since then, we've had a few ups and downs as a family to say the least, but I've always had a great group of friends"

        "You know sometimes I wish you'd knock before you enter my mind" I said with a laugh, he just looked confused "You just managed to describe my last year or so, except it was just me moving to Rawley school, not my family"

        He smiled "Yeah, this is becoming kinda unnerving isn't it?"

        I laughed, "I was just thinking that"

        "So tell me about your family…"

        "No, no, no" I avoided the subject neatly "I asked you first…Capeside"

        "Okay then, well as I said my friends are kinda Capeside's main saving grace, and I mean we have our share of problems, boy, do we have our share of problems, but we're still really close"

        "Tell me about them" I was beginning to feel like the interviewer- a thought that cast my mind back to my interview that afternoon. It had gone surprisingly well actually, better than I had imagined. On the flight over I remember expecting some terribly painful and embarrassing thirty minutes, sat with half a dozen old battleaxes in a room that resembled a prison cell more than an interview area. After my comment about how much my poem meant to me they'd pretty much backed away from the really painful stuff they could tell it contained. Much to my relief the one question I knew they were dying to ask was never brought up –who was the poem about? My particular strain of denial at that point in my life would pretty much have meant I wouldn't have been able to answer the question. 

        "Well, there's Jen," Jacks voice brought me back into the present "She's the girl who entered me for this competition, and, well I really don't know what to say about her, except…" Suddenly he seemed to remember something and lent forwards in his seat to try and dig it out of his back pocket "The interviewer said I could keep it, she sent it with my poem when she entered me for the competition" He handed me over a piece of paper, crumpled at the edges, I unfolded it gently on the table in front of me and began to read.

JACK 

        I was aware I was bearing all by handing him over that piece of paper. Once he'd read it he'd want to know what my poem was about, what problems had arisen once I'd been forced to read it in class, why I'd become a "brighter shade of the person" I'd been before. My stomach tied itself in knots as I watched him read, wondering when he would finally look up, meet my eye and make me explain myself, and, most importantly, wondering how he'd react when I did.

        "Wow," He said finally, looking up "She's quite a girl, and it makes you sound like quite a guy" I smiled, waiting for his next question "Is she… Is she your girlfriend?" Not quite the question I was expecting…

        I laughed, partly out of relief "No, no, we're not like that, she's my best friend and I love her, but no, we're not…dating"

        "Sounds to me like you ought to be, she obviously thinks a lot of you"

        "Well, there was this one time," He cast me a quizzical look "But no, no we're not like that, not right for each other at all"

        "Any reason?" There it was- the question. It had taken him longer to get there than I'd expected, but we had still made it.

        "She's not really my type…" I was skirting the question. I hated the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I knew I had to tell someone, make the situation clear, it was like a series of warm volcanic eruptions mounting in the pit of my stomach, simmering in the depths of my soul.

        "What? Blonde?" I couldn't help but smile

        "Female"

WILL 

        Silence.

        What did I say?

        For a full five seconds we just sat there and looked at each other. It took a while to process, before the realisation surged through my mind like an express train –for lack of a better simile. I'd always known, somewhere in the back of my mind, but I hadn't wanted to let myself recognise it, because then it got a little bit more complicated when I recognised I had been flirting back.

        Finally I became aware of him staring at me, waiting for my reaction, and I let out a shaky laugh.

        "Well, suddenly I don't need to ask what the poem was about..." I shook my head, probably in an effort to get the information to hit home.

        "Are you okay about it?"

        "About what?" Denial

        "About me being gay" I gave him a look, one that said; _quieten down_ "Look, I'm not hiding it now… and its not as if there's a whole lot of people I know about that are gonna be listening"

        "Yeah, I know, but…"

        "You're not okay with it…"

        "I'm fine" I wasn't fine.

        "No you're not"

        "Look, I'm fine okay, I just…" I stood up "Need to…" And on the strength of that great and memorable exit line, I left. 

JACK 

        "That's the second time you've walked away from me in the last half hour" Naturally I'd followed him.

        "You know, there's no law to say you _have _to be here" I couldn't read his tone as he repeated the line he'd used earlier to get me to follow him, this time for the opposite purpose –to get me to go away.

        "Of course there is, you'd be eaten alive out here without me, lost in the big city all alone with all these scary people about" 

        "The only scary person about is the one that's following me right now" I'd practically made it to his elbow when he spoke and caused me to stop, calling after him.

        "You don't really think that do you?"

        Two seconds, three, before he stopped and turned.

        "I don't know what to think" He said honestly after a few seconds "I'm sorry, this shouldn't bother me but it does," His eyes finally met mine for the first time since we'd left the café "…I know I've only known you for a day," He paused, as we both considered how much longer it seemed, "…but it feels like longer, you know…"

        I nodded

        "It was a shock" He finished

        "It wasn't really though was it?" My response was immediate

        "What's that supposed to mean?"

        "What do you think it means?"

        "Can you answer in anything that's not a question?"

        I stopped as the argument became less and less about him and me and more and more about the volume of our voices. 

        "This is stupid, we're not going to sort anything out this way"

        "What's there to sort out, you're gay, I'm confused, leave it be"

        "Why confused?" I asked quickly

        He stopped for a moment, before looking down to study the pavement with more interest than it was worth "There you go with the questions again" His tone was quieter now

        "There was no other way to say it"

        For a moment we fell again into silence, me watching him, as I had been doing sat at our table in the café, the one we were now sure to have lost, hopefully not along with our friendship.

        "I think I just need some time…" He said finally, turning away from me, back in the direction of the tube station.     

        I let him go.


	3. Chapter 3 - But I Am

Title: Poetic License 

Author: Miss_demeanour

Parts: 1, 2 and 3 of 5

Category: Romance, This Kiss, Jack/Other

Rating: PG-13

E-mail: dayi_mai@hotmail.com Chapter 3: But I am JACK 

_Hello and welcome to the first annual meeting of the idiots society, my name is Jack McPhee and I will be acting as your president for today. _I'd blown it. Completely and utterly blown it. 

Three days in a foreign country, three days that I thought were going to be living hell had suddenly begun to look quite appealing as I'd met Will, stood facing a tube station map as if it were encoded by some alien cult. And now? Now I'd blown it. I'd known the guy for like, 5 hours, and I'd already frightened him away.

I'd been wrong. I'd thought I could trust him, thought that perhaps he wouldn't be scared off by the truth, but he'd proved me completely incorrect. 

However there was still one thought that niggled in the back of my mind, that no distractions could shake lose. It had been there as I'd paced the streets of an unfamiliar city, eventually finding my way back to the tube station I'd watched Will disappear into half an hour or so before. It was there as I studied the maps similar to the ones I'd met him in front of, before stepping onto my train back to Queensway and our hotel. It was there as I took the elevator up to the second floor and found my room again, scrabbling in my pockets to find the key that always took about 15 tries to work in the locks. And it was there now- that little annoying thought that grew and grew in the back of my mind –why _had_ I decided to talk to him all those hours before?

At the time I thought it had been the confidence of new surroundings, or the kindness of the old lady, willing to put herself out there when she saw that I was anxious. But perhaps, just perhaps, it had been nothing of the sort, perhaps it had just been him and the look in his eye, the look that spoke of being out on your own in unspeakable weather, lost and alone, battling the elements of your confusion.

There in that look was something I had recognised, something I had seen in the mirror more times than I cared to remember. Looking into his face had been like stepping back in time, back to a younger version of myself, back into my poem.

The scariest thing, I realised, about that chance encounter, was not that I was meeting a stranger for the first time, but that I was meeting a familiar. Someone so like me it was untrue, the someone I had been only a year or so before. Perhaps persona's were simply handed down from person to person, like second hand clothing- you pull them on and then pass them on, letting another share the experiences and feelings you had when you were in them. Suddenly I knew where mine had gone, I felt like a person who'd just seen another wearing their favourite jumper knitted especially for them when they were five and that had been tossed out to a charity store years before.

I could picture him now, as he had been stood on that platform, looking at me with such innocent eyes, it was like looking into a time warp. Even now it was hard to pull away, shut that image out of my mind, try and stop myself picturing his face, wearing my expression.

Funny how I still thought it my expression, that I had somehow laid claim to my persona in the short time I had been the one inhabiting it. I'd come so far since my poem that it had been almost painful to drag it out on Jen's instruction. I had to get used to it, she said, practise saying it in front of people, get used to the feelings it awoke in me so I wouldn't re-enact the tears and emotion that had tainted its recital the first time. I had learnt its words almost without emotion now, almost to the point when it became menial, which I suppose is exactly the opposite of what I should have done, for without emotion what is poetry but a random assortment of letters on a page? But back to my point, I'd come so far from the days when those random letters had been placed there, Jen, Ethan, Tobey…they were all people who meant very little and nothing to me then, but they had all changed my life, so dramatically it was hard to recognise the self I was today in Will's sky-blue eyes. Instead I could not ignore the attraction that I found there.

Which brings me back to my starting point, full circle. If I'd recognised in Will's eyes the same emotions I had recognised in myself only a year or so earlier the joke was on me, I was an idiot. If someone had come out to me a year earlier, someone I'd clearly been attracted to even if I didn't know it and didn't want to acknowledge it, I would have run a mile. So really, I shouldn't have been surprised that Will had. I'd blown it. Completely and utterly…

My thoughts were cut off abruptly by knuckles softly grazing the other side of my door- loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to wake me had I been sleeping.

I slipped out of bed; where I had been laid awake, staring at the ceiling, arms folded behind my head, musing.

"Will?" For some reason -perhaps it had been the fact that my thoughts had not strayed from him since he had left me stood in the centre of Leicester square- I was not surprised to find it was him stood sheepishly in the hall as I swung open the door of my hotel room. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked in response to his silence. 

"I, I…" A stuttered response, he seemed more surprised than I was that he should be stood there, at midnight, in only the shorts and t-shirt he was presumably sleeping in.

"How did you know which room I was?" Again no answer.

"I saw you get back…" A beat, "You think I could come in?"

"I don't know, you sure you want that? I mean I could jump you at any minute" For some reason, although I'd spent the last few hours musing about how much of an idiot I was for telling him and how I didn't blame him for getting all scared on me, I was still bitter.

"Jack," My name on his lips seemed to send a shudder through my body, but I tried to tell myself it was only the cold hallway "Don't be like that, I'm sorry I wigged out on you earlier, I was just… I don't know what I was, but I've come to explain. Let me in, please"

I did as instructed.

WILL 

It wasn't until he actually opened the door that I realised exactly what I was doing. I'd spent the last few hours in a strange strain of suspended animation, half wanting to think about what had just happened, process it, come to terms with it, the other half simply wanting to hide in my room and hope that the entire world would dissolve around me.

Neither had happened. 

I lay staring at the ceiling of my hotel room for a long time after I got back, allowing my mind to gloss over the scene at the café and the square, allowing it to process each nugget of information, analysing the feelings in my stomach as I heard him say those words: _"About me being gay…" _over and over in my mind. 

Until finally I no longer wanted to lie there alone and analyse those feelings and instead, almost without my minds consent, I slipped out of bed and, grabbing only my key and a slip of paper from the night stand, I stepped into the hall, finding the door I'd quietly watched Jack enter (after many failed attempts) earlier that evening.

"Go on then…" The inside of his room was exactly like my own, except inverted, the door on the left side not the right, the bed against the opposite wall, mussed by troubled sleep, if indeed he had been sleeping at all. "…explain" He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving me in the spotlight, uncomfortable, scared.

I took a deep breath, lifting the piece of crumpled paper I had brought with me into my line of sight.

"Ad-rift, by William Krudski" I couldn't catch his eye, and instead, went on reading. 

"_I lay listening to the sea-sounds of your breathing,_

_The ebb and flow of air through perfect lips, _

_Washing against my cheek._

_Though you do not lay here._

_The current of your eyes_

_So powerful I cannot help but be swept away._

_By you,_

_Only you._

_You are my watery death and my steadfast__ saviour__._

_My rock, I cling to beneath the circling vulterous seagulls,_

_With their diamond jewelry and overstated wallets,_

_Above the depths of my years._

_My present, holding me safe."_

There was a long silence after I had finished reading, head bowed now to the floor rather than the paper, I knew it off by heart anyway. 

"I wrote it not long ago," I went on, "…sat awake at night, listening to my roommate breathing" A pause, before I attempted a feeble laugh "I have no idea why I'm telling you this, some stupid cry for attention I guess, but," I swallowed "I go to an all male school- Rawley Boys. His name is Scout." Silence again, this time it was not me processing his information, but him processing mine "So I guess, when I ran when you told me you were gay, it got just that little bit too real, I wasn't ready to face it, and, the worst of the matter is, I don't think I am yet either…"

Then suddenly he was by my side, ducking his face so he could look into my eyes, finger gently brushing against the back of my hand where it had fallen by my side.

"You already have" He said gently "You told me, and believe me I know how scary it can be"

And then as quickly as he had appeared by my side I was folded in his arms, face pressed against the thin material of his T-shirt stretched across a broad shoulder, his arms encircling my back, holding me close as I tried to stifle the tears that threatened to flow against the close proximity of another.

"I'm scared Jack," I said finally, burying my face in his warm scent "I don't want to be going through this, but I am."

JACK 

In that moment, as he said that line I was transported back to that night, the night after my poem had been shamelessly splashed across school and the night my father, the one man I respected and looked up to most in my life, had rejected me. I could still feel the cold marble of the stairs pressing against the back of my legs, my hand wound across the banister by my side as tears poured down my own face, words tumbling out of my mouth almost without my consent… _"…__I'm sorry, Dad. Andie, I'm sorry. I don't want to be going through this, but I am"_

And suddenly I was no longer the one holding him, but he was holding me also. Comforting me as I comforted him. My arms circling his back were no more or less important than his arms holding me. We stood like that for a long time, tears gently winding their way down emotionally drenched faces, until finally, inevitably I suppose, he pulled back to look into my face, and I met him, slowly, tenderly, in a long, passionate kiss.

WILL 

"I'm sorry" It was a long time before he pulled away -a long time before I would let him- and even when he did it was only from my lips, not from my arms. 

"What have you got to be sorry for?" In hindsight it was the most bizarre of situations, I was stood in the centre of someone else's hotel room in the middle of the night (a middle of the night that felt more like early evening, but it was night none the less) arms curved around a practical stranger, someone I had met only five or six hours before -a _guy_ I had met only five or six hours before, asking him why he had stopped kissing me. But at the time, it felt the most natural thing in the world.

He sighed, the rush of air through perfect lips, I had to close my eyes to block out the lines of my poem.

"You just came out to me, man" There was laughter in the hopelessness of his tone "You do not need this right now" He attempted to pull away, but I wouldn't let him, my arms still knotted behind his back holding him close.

"Perhaps this is just what I need" This time it was me who lent across to close the gap between our lips, losing myself in the warm sensation of another, the sweet caress of his lips and tongue.

However again he broke away, managing to slip from my embrace.

"I can't believe _I_ am the one stopping this…" he said with a laugh, stepping backwards to sit back on the bed, as he had done when I was reading my poem "Aren't you just a little freaked out?"

"Why, are you?" My immediate reaction.

"Well… I've had the best part of two years to get used to all this, you just admitted to me that you wrote a love poem about a guy what? Five minutes ago?" A pause "A moment ago you told me you were scared, now you seem to be cooler than I am"

"I'm terrified Jack," Simple, to the point, someday I could become a writer "but it feels right"

_That shut him up_, I thought to myself with a smile, during his long and startled silence, before slowly I walked forward, and dipping my head to meet his lips once again, slowly pushed him back onto the bed.

JACK 

We stayed up all night.

Wahey! I hear you cry. Go Jack! Score! Well-done man! It's as if I can actually hear the jock's cries inside my head after they finally get that blonde into bed that they've been herding like a wild boar for the good part of the last week. Well it wasn't like that.

We talked. All night. Laid there in the light of an unfamiliar streetlamp, legs entwined atop a hotel bedspread that smelt faintly of disinfectant, washing power and cigarette smoke, we faced each other in the semi-darkness and spoke of all the things we'd ever wanted to speak about.

We started off slow, gently wandering the more pleasant halls of our minds, talking of home and friends and family, happy memories from our childhood, warm home baked times that you are glad to look back upon. It took us a while but gradually we moved on to the more emotional and painful topics, old relationships, past experiences that perhaps we wouldn't remember with a smile in 50 years time, my last few years, coming to terms with who I was, and how people had reacted to it. I spoke of Ethan and Tobey with the same amount of emotion I gave to Jen and Grams, as even though they'd only played bit roles, they were just as important in shaping who I'd become.

We lay and listened to the sound of the English rain lapping at an English windowpane, its warm, moist scent filling the room and the space around us on the bed, wrapping us in feelings not dissimilar to home. And we talked, meandering through topics and feelings I'd never known, never felt, never experienced for myself, and ones that I knew all to well. He smiled in the lamplight and held my hand as I recited my poem to him as best I could from memory, filling him in on the story of its telling: Mr Peterson and Pacey, Jen and Ty. Before I made him laugh with the trials and tribulations of the relationship between Dawson and Joey, the fated couple, ever to walk the earth both together and apart simultaneously.

Wound throughout my own tales would be stories of his, images he created in my mind of a beautiful town perpetually bathed in summer, housing an assortment of people I could see almost as well as the people I was describing to him. Jake and Hamilton, the star crossed lovers, their relationship just as pitted and treacherous and Dawson and Joey's, but ultimately a lot more joyful. Bella, his childhood friend, as close to him as Andie was to me, and then finally Scout, a name that I could sense ran painful in his mind but a name I would not allow him to skirt around.

"He's been my roommate since I first moved to Rawley School, and he's not just been that, he's my best friend…"

"...and he's straight?" It was more of a statement than a question.

He nodded, before smiling gently through the murky darkness, "I mean, so was I until a few minutes ago"

"More like hours now," I smiled, "It's easy to do you know, fall for someone like that" So easy, I thought to myself, that I'd managed never to do it. Well, unless you counted Pace, but even I didn't see that as anything other than gratitude anymore. 

A hand, stretching across the distance between us to gently stroke my cheek, pulled me from my thoughts.

"Do you think that's what happened with us?"

I smiled "We were never just friends"

"That's what frightened me"

"I can understand that…" Our tones were soft, quiet in the night, eyes perpetually locked.

"It's scary, you know, not knowing who you are anymore"

I nodded slowly, "You don't need to tell me that" 

"Well," He said slowly, after a pause, "I'm not sure I feel like that any more" There was silence for a moment, as I felt a look of confusion cross my face, before slowly, a smile flickering across his lips, he lent forward and touched them again to mine, breaking away slowly to rest his head beneath my chin, pressed up against my chest.

"Night, Jack" He said on an exhale as the morning light peeked through the curtains beyond his blonde head.

"Night"

WILL 

"Wake up lazybones," I said as brightly as I could muster as I re-entered the sleep-thickened room, now fully clothed and awake, rather than when I had left half an hour before. The figure still curled on the bed did not stir "Hey you," I continued, throwing the two room keys on the sideboard and moving towards the bed "wake up" Resting my hands on the duvet I lent over to get a look at his face, gently placing a kiss on the top of his nose. 

Finally he groaned, scrunching his face against the bright morning "What time is it?" He asked finally, eyes still closed.

"Time to get up" I said with a smile, he was clearly not a morning person

"What time is it really?"

"Ten"

Another groan "That means its only 5 American time"

"What do you mean American time? There are too many to count" I stood back up, poking him in the ribs as I did so "And anyway, you should be functioning on English time in England"    

"Not if it means I have to get up at five in the morning" He rolled back over onto his stomach in preparation to go back to sleep, but I wouldn't let him, crouching down low again to find his face, now turned toward me

"I'll make it worth your while," I whispered as seductively as I could into his exposed ear, and finally was rewarded with some movement, as laboriously he rose from the duvet, eyes flickering open as he stood up beside me, out of bed even if he wasn't properly awake. Slowly he held his arms out to me "…but if you think you're coming anywhere near me with morning breath, you have another thing coming" And then, mission completed, I mischievously left the room.

JACK 

"Is it possible that you, Will Krudski, are the devil incarnate?" I asked sitting down opposite him at the table, having quickly located him in the breakfast room.

He laughed "Very possible"

"I knew it, that was a trick worthy only of the most evil souls" I shook my head "What have I let myself in for?"

He smiled at me gently, before letting his gaze rest back on his plate.

"No regrets?" I asked after a few moments, my plate of food relatively ignored.

He shook his head slowly, meeting my eye again and lowering his voice slightly in the busy room "No, just, strange, that's all"

"I'm a lot for anyone to get used to" The lighter the situation, the better. He laughed, exactly the response I had been hoping for. "So any reason for that rude awakening? Or you just trying the new sadistic look?"

"We have rehearsals in an hour"

"Rehearsals?" Perhaps my mind was still fogged with sleep.

"For the presentation evening, tomorrow, kinda the reason we're here"

"Ahh, I knew there had to be something to spoil my good mood" I smiled, finally picking up knife and skewering my bread roll "So, just out of a matter of interest, why couldn't I have got another hours sleep?" I was rewarded by another bread roll, grazing past my right ear.

The auditorium was packed, or I should say more packed than you would expect when the only ones who had to be present were the 5 finalists including myself. 

"Who are all these people?" I lent over to ask Will as we were shepherded to the front by an overly cheerful woman in her mid-thirties, far too excited to see us.

"I have no idea," Was his hushed reply "But suddenly I'm a hell of a lot more scared"

"I know the feeling" Expertly the perky woman who had lead us up the aisle showed us our seats at the front of the room, facing the stage, which was empty except for a daunting looking podium made of cheap wood and chipboard. Will and I exchanged a glance.

"Okay, now that everyone's assembled," A man I recognized from the day before stood to address the group as a ginger-haired girl of perhaps 17 took her seat beside Will, having been marched to her place by an equally enthusiastic receptionist. He paused for a moment, as if expecting another of us to pop up at any moment "I'm Edward Brown, but you can all call me Ed, you might remember my name from the letters I sent to you all." There was a general murmur of recognition "Well, I'd like to take this chance to welcome you all here, and congratulate you on getting this far, I've read each of your poems and in my personal opinion they are all the very best I've read in a long time by a group such as this." He meant teenagers and I had no doubt that he said that to every group, every year. 

"I'd also like to reassure you that you all did wonderfully in yesterdays interviews, they're a relatively new thing to be introduced in this competition, but it does allow the judges to get a better idea of both you and your poem." I felt like I was being judged for an annual dog show "Anyway, I'll pass over to Sophie now, but I'd just like to wish good luck to you all and at the end of the day it's a shame there can only be one winner" There was a small burst of applause she he sat down, mainly instigated by the bright young woman who took the floor after he did.

"Right, we don't want to take long over this folks, I'm sure you all want to get off and explore the sights" She giggled, a noise that ran down my spine like a series of electric shocks, I couldn't tell if she was trying to be American or take the piss "If I could just have you seated in this order, it'll be the order you'll present your poems" Hastily she rifled through her clipboard and pointed to the seat that the late arrival had taken, indicating the first name on the list was to sit there "Jonathan Best," A Chinese-looking boy of about 16 rose from two places down from me, taking his seat as the girl vacated it, "Susan Keats, no relation to the poet I assume?" She giggled again as she motioned to the seat Will was sitting in, he rose to allow Susan to sit, a slightly older girl, long red hair and a ready smile for the woman I could see irritated her as much as she did me. "William Krudski" I smiled and stood up for him as he sat down in my place, aware of our arms brushing as we passed each other "Jack McPhee" The girl sat in the place she indicated for me shifted one seat up to allow me to sit down, meeting my eyes with a smile. "And finally, Lucy Smith" And she nodded. "Well now introductions are over with, I'll get on and tell you about the schedule for tomorrow evening…"

It was a relatively simple presentation. We'd begin with a word from the president of the society that runs the competition, before another word from Ed, the man we had heard from at the beginning to today. These, she told us conspiratorially, were only meant to last for about 10 minutes each but we were to expect to be listening for at least half an hour, something I personally would probably be grateful for the next day. We'd then go up in order, introduce ourselves and recite our poem, as much from memory as we could. The winner would be announced at the end of the ceremony.

Now, I hear you all cry, they never tell you what is supposed to happen if the thing actually goes ahead all according to plan. It's just not dramatic enough to have a long, involved explanation of the planned version of events when they are pulled off without a hitch only 24 hours later. There is no use in it. Well, here, as narrator of this section I will take this chance to remind you that this is not the movies, this is real life.

"Right, lets all just get to know each other a little better!" My stomach tied itself up in knots inside of me as I looked over to catch Will's eye, this did not sound good. "I'd like to hear each of your poems, just quickly, no need for introductions, just so you get the feel of the stage" She must be joking, but a quick glance at her overly-perky face made me realise she wasn't.

We went up in order, self-consciously reciting the poems we had already committed to memory anyway. Jonathan's was first, his voice giving away his country of origin as, in a broad Scottish accent, he recited his poem _"Thunder"_. Susan was next, her poem _"Cats"_ ringing clear with a note of true innocence. 

There was terror on his face as Will went up to the stand, but he managed to mumble his way through the poem I had heard myself the night before -all he had to remember was that no one other than me in the room knew who it was about. I was next, and suddenly the small crowd didn't seem so small.

""_Today_"" I began, gathering my breath and emotion, stood behind a podium that had looked a lot smaller from 10 feet away.

_"Today was a day the world got smaller, darker,_

_I grew more afraid, not of what I am but of what I could be._

_I loosen my collar to take a breath,_

_Eyes fade, and I see him, image of perfection,_

_His frame strong, his lips smooth,_

_I keep thinking, what am I so scared of?"_

I glanced up at the captivated crowd, a sight that made me hurriedly look down at my copy of the poem, hopelessly trying to block from my mind the image of Mr Peterson, Pacey and a dozen other students, hanging on my every word and silently banging another nail into my coffin with every one. I took a deep breath, and continued.

_"And the worst, I can escape from pain_

_But these thoughts invade my head._

_Bound to my memory like shackles of guilt_

_With no absolution._

_My mind becomes my cell, _

_My cell, my guilt…_

_… My life."_


	4. Chapter 4 - Killing You Inside

Title: Poetic License 

Author: Miss_demeanour

Parts: 4 of 5

Category: Romance, This Kiss, Jack/Other

Rating: PG-13

E-mail: dayi_mai@hotmail.com WARNING THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES LANGUAGE THAT MAY EXCEED THE ABOVE RATING, GUIDANCE ADVISED. Chapter 4: Killing you inside WILL 

"It's Su" The girl beside me stuck out her hand as the woman out front finally allowed us to escape, poems over, all our insides a jumble of nerves.  "That's without the 'e'" 

I smiled and took the outstretched hand "Yeah, I could hear that, I'm Will"

"Cute" She said quickly and I let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry?"

"The accent," She smiled and I cringed inside, all too aware I was blushing "Don't worry I'm not coming onto you"

"I didn't think you were," I replied a little too quickly, withdrawing my hand after realising it had held hers that little bit too long, I tried to save myself "But according to me you're the one with the accent"

"Not in England baby" * Baby? * She laughed, "Okay, I promise never, ever to say that again… I'm just nervous, it slips out sometimes"

"What does?"

"My inner-American-high-school-prom-queen"

"We don't talk like that" I smiled, 

"You don't? Oh well, my dream had to be shattered some day," She shrugged "And just so you know, we don't take afternoon tea on the lawn either" She added an over-the-top English upper-class lilt to her voice.

"I'll remember" We stood, smiling, silent for a moment, before I noticed Jack hovering uncertainly behind Su's right shoulder "Hey Jack, this is Su, without the 'e'"

"Hiya Jack" She turned to shake his hand, drawing him expertly into the conversation "So you two know each other then?" 

I caught his eye subtly "You could say that"

"We met on the plane," Jack added as way of explanation.

"Well, actually it was the underground,"

"He was lost, I came to his rescue"

Su laughed, "Wow, you two really have the old double act thing going on already" 

A moment of silence, in which my eyes slid over to meet Jacks, it was him who broke the spell.

"You know you don't have to pick up American phrases just 'cause you're talking to us"

For a second she looked confused, before laughing, "Nope, this is really how we talk"

"Yeah" I added, looking at Jack "No afternoon tea on the lawn"

"Exactly," She finished with a smile. 

JACK 

"Jack, Will, this is Lucy and Jon" For a moment we had lapsed again into companionable silence, the kind of silence anyone outside of the pair often finds uncomfortable, therefore it was Su who broke the hush, almost physically catching the couple who threatened to walk by without a greeting. Uncomfortable pleasantries were passed, compliments made about poems and hands shaken across the group before Su seemed to be satisfied "Well, now we're all together we can go out and celebrate!" Her intent was obvious, the group seemed already to have paired off and the role of gooseberry seemed to her a much more appealing one than being stranded alone in an unfamiliar city. The rest of the group recognised this immediately, and locked in some silent understanding we merely smiled and allowed ourselves to be led.

"So, Jack, Will. Tell us a bit about yourselves." Su seemed to be doing most of the talking, as, we soon realised, was her character. We were all sat round a booth in a café just around the corner from the institute, seated so that Su was in the middle sandwiched between Will and I, Jon and Lucy. It became clear quite early on that the other three had already met at the interviews, Will and I having probably just missed them as they went off for coffee together.

"Not much to say really, both small town America, different states, same poetry competition" Will replied- I let him do the talking, happy to sip at my tasteless coffee and watch the conversation unfurl around me, my eye never straying far from the figure of Will by my side. This was a feeling I had yet to top, the feeling of being accepted, safe and happy with another who seemed just as safe and happy with you- on the surface at least. 

Yes, I suppose that surprised you, you expected this small, fuzzy, little soliloquy about how happy everything was, about how wonderful life had become now I'd found the love of my life- well I've never been that idealistic. Will had problems, I was well aware of that, they were the reason he would switch from overly happy to worried and cold at a blink of an eye, they were the reason for his doubts and I couldn't blame him, I was having doubts too. However you defined our relationship we were together, and when two people are together they become a couple- couples don't work too well when one of the pair is only half devoted to the cause, unsure of where he or she wants to be. With one half down a couple soon disintegrates into a single, and you're back where you started.

Suddenly I became aware that the group's gaze had shifted over to me.

"Sorry," A nervous laugh, "What did you say?"

"How did you get mixed up in this competition?" Lucy asked again from across the table, obviously similar to Su in personality although the contrast in looks could not have been more striking. Lucy was dark for a start, short hair and startling green eyes that seemed to flash when she spoke, her face round, her body slim and small. Her poem had come after mine, something I barely remembered through the relief that mine was over.

"I kinda got forced into it against my will, my best friend entered me" I said haltingly, rolling my eyes as if to say; _you know how they are _"What about everyone else?"

"I applied, needed some cash, thought I might as well do what I love for it," Lucy replied 

"I'm the same, thought I could use the prize money, didn't think I'd get this far though" Su interjected

There wasn't really much to say after that. Technically we were all just strangers, meeting by chance because we had once written a poem that was considered one of the best written by teenagers in the English-speaking world. Thinking about it I suppose it was quite a big deal. My mind cast back to the first time I'd seen the flyer for the competition, Jen had put it in my hands not long after I received the letter inviting me here. I remember thinking how familiar it looked, having subconsciously taken in its appearance when tacked to the English room door or notice-board, yet somehow at the same time I managed to feel totally and utterly detached from it, as if I were not the one entering the finals at all, but some alter-ego of myself, laid to rest many months before. Two lines now, however, with all this talk of prize money, stuck out: _Winner will receive £2000 cash, for him or herself and their place of education_. I remember thinking then how stuck-up it sounded.

"So are you all from Britain then?" Will was trying to be conversational by my side.

"Yep, Luce and I are from England, Jon's from Scotland" Su was the one to reply "But I guess you already noticed that"

"Yeah, pretty obvious, you stick out almost as much as we do!" Will laughed turning to Jon, who returned the smile "So whereabouts exactly do you live then?" And the conversation managed to kick-start itself once again.

"Three hours!" He said between kisses, his warm breath tickling my face "Three whole hours I haven't had you to myself" 

I laughed, "I bet it's killing you inside…" I said sarcastically.

"It is!" Another kiss "I mean just think we could have been doing this all day rather than sitting talking to these people"

"They're interesting,"

"And fun," Kiss "and witty," Kiss "and new" Kiss "and intelligent" Kiss "But they're not you"

I laughed again "You're like a kid with a new toy, you know that?"

"I definitely do not feel like a kid" He ran a hand up to the back of my neck to pull me closer, his tongue continuing its exploration of the inside of my mouth.

"We probably shouldn't be doing this here" I was the one to break off, glancing around to check the doorway. We'd escaped to the men's room, ignoring the anti-herding instinct men were supposed to possess concerning visits to the bathroom.

For a moment he looked at me, more serious for a moment "Why is it always you that breaks away?" 

I smiled, leaning in to meet his lips again, my own warning forgotten "Perhaps I'm the only one with control of my libido" 

"I have control," He laughed, nibbling hungrily at my mouth "I've not got you pinned against the door rapidly parting with your clothing yet, have I?"

"Is that what you're planning?" I laughed, joking.

"Not here" He replied, promising, a smile in his voice.

I drew away, suddenly much more sober, and watched him in uncomfortable silence for a few moments. 

"Perhaps we should go back" Suddenly I couldn't meet his eye "They're gonna wonder what's happened to us" I tried to cover, but he didn't buy it.

"What's up?" He asked, concerned "Look, I was only joking, if I'm making you uncomfortable…"

For a moment I simply stared at him, trying to puzzle out the person behind the pretty face. It was a while before I opened my mouth to speak, still unsure of what I was about to say, only to be cut off abruptly by someone entering the men's room; we jumped apart, widening the void that seemed to have already begun to open even without the intrusion. 

Conversation cut short we were forced to retreat back to the restaurant.

"Well you two took your time" Su said with a smile as we returned to our table, slightly further apart than we had been when we left, both metaphorically and physically. "We were beginning to think you'd done a runner"

"No, no," Will's ability to put on a pleasant smile was amazing "Just distracted" 

Su laughed, "I bet you were!" she said enthusiastically before turning back to her menu "Jon, Lucy desert? I think Jack and Will have already had theirs" She said it pleasantly enough, processing our situation with only cheerful acceptance, even so I was aware my cheeks were burning.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Will. A line that surprised even me, I still couldn't figure him out. There was silence for a moment in which Su simply stared back at him, stunned.

"I-I'm sorry, with Jack's poem, I just thought…" 

Will tired to laugh it off, sounding artificial even to me. I merely sat silently in the corner, stomach churning with that same agonising feeling that arises whenever something like this comes to light. 

"Well, I think you thought wrong," Will's voice was unnervingly a-matter-of-fact.

"Oh well, sorry guys, that'll teach me not to make assumptions in the future…" She caught both our eyes with a smile before turning back to the others, her apology genuine. "Now, ice-cream anyone?" I couldn't stay.

WILL 

"Jack! Jack, wait!" I'd had to follow him, a rushed excuse and hurried escape were not the kind of behaviour anyone could just laugh off, it was clear he was upset and there was nothing I could do to ignore it. I hurried up behind him, grabbing his shoulder to try and turn him toward me.

"Fuck off Will" Three words, delivered like a punch in the stomach.

"Jack, come on, don't be like this" It was a moment before I regained my composure, but the moment I did I was following him again.

"Don't be like what Will?" He spat over his shoulder "Don't be angry? 'Cause I think I have a hell of a cause to be angry"

"What do you mean?"

Finally he stopped, turning to face me, the close proximity of his face, comforting and sensual only a few minutes before suddenly because threatening.

"You know what I mean Will" A weighted pause "What the hell is your game?"

"My game? I don't have a game"

"What would you call it then?" His tone was angry, loud, before he dropped it slightly. "You spend all morning flirting with me, holding my fucking hand under the table for gods sake, then you start talking about sleeping with me before down right denying we have anything between us at all in front of the rest of them!"

"They didn't need to know"

"No, they didn't _need _to know, but if they'd already assumed where's the point in denying it?" It was clear who had the power in the conversation.

"I wasn't ready…"

"So you weren't ready to tell three nice, caring, considerate people about the fact that we were together, but you think your ready for sex?"

"I didn't say that"

"You practically did…" A pause "You run so hot and cold Will, and I don't think it's just me you're beginning to confuse"

"Who else?"

"Su, Jon, Lucy …yourself"

We faced each other for a moment; I had no idea what to say.

"This is really not the best place to be discussing this," I said finally, breaking his eye contact.

He laughed, bitterly "Tell me you just did not say that…"

"Perhaps we should talk about this some other time"

"We have to face this Will, here's as better place than any"

"Couldn't we go somewhere more private?"

"That's the point! Look, tomorrow you're gonna have to stand up in front of an auditorium full of people for real and recite to them the poem you had a hell of a lot of difficulty reciting to just us and a couple of tech's this morning." He seemed to be physically stopping himself from reaching out and shaking me "You have to come to terms with the fact that you wrote it about a guy Will, they may not realise it, but you will"

Silence for a moment "Su and the others are gonna be wondering where we've gone" I spoke quietly, not sure if I was unable to process his words, or just refusing to do so.

"Fuck Su and the others, they're bright people, they're gonna have already worked out what's going on here, but its not about them, its about us. No, not even us, its about you, Will" He paused for a long moment, looking down at the pavement before meeting my eyes once again "I really like you Will, you know that, but you're messed up. You're confused, and I can understand what you're going through, I went through it myself a while back, but that's just it, its in my past now, I can't go back and tell you what to feel, how to live your own life. I think, perhaps, if you're going to have any hope of reading this poem tomorrow I'm gonna have to back off, let you get your head straight. You need to decide what it is you want, Will, not what others seem to want you to want, and that's something you have to do alone."

There was a trace of a sad smile on his face as he finished speaking, finally calm. He stopped and looked at me for a long time then, studying my face as if there was a possibility he would never see it again, before slowly he lent over and gently kissed my forehead. I flinched at his touch, the people milling around us obviously forgotten by him, but painfully obvious to me. He simply laughed sadly at my reaction, shaking his head before he turned to walk away.


	5. Chapter 5 - I’d Love to See Heaven

Title: Poetic License 

Author: Miss_demeanour

Parts: 5 of 5

Category: Romance, This Kiss, Jack/Other

Rating: PG-13

E-mail: dayi_mai@hotmail.com Chapter 5: I'd Love to See Heaven WILL 

Thirty hours. Thirty long hours after I had been left alone on the top of Oxford Street saw me sitting nervously, head bowed to my hands, outside the auditorium where the finals of the Young Poet of the Year Award competition were to be held. The nerves that rang loud in my stomach started to remind me of the terror a new groom must feel waiting for the first strains of the wedding march and the first sight of his bride-to-be. My poem was old, my suit new, my confidence borrowed, my soul blue.

Silently I watched the minute hand on my watch traverse the inside of its circle, waiting for the moment it clicked up onto the 12 and I had to face the beginning of the ceremony, the long, involved speeches about the age and tradition of the society that annually handed out this award, the nerves growing in my stomach as Jon stepped up to speak, then Su, then me. And of course, the moment that small hand found its destination there would be Jack, sat so close I can feel every breath that enfolds his body, each flicker of an eyelash, each swallow as he tries to steady his nerves.

"Well, now I've bored you all to tears with the wonderful history of our fair society I think it is time to get along with the ceremony, our first poet up on the stand for you today is Jonathen Best, reading 'Thunder'" My mind seems to have cut forward in time to the moment when I _can_ actually feel Jack's presence by my side, _can_ hear the applause of the crowd as Jon gets up to speak. I have no idea who all these people are, I cannot imagine who is really interested in the nerves of 5 teenagers, forced to pit against each other in the pursuit of a cash prize.

"Hi, I'm Jon," The figure that stood up before us was a world apart from the silent boy we had met in this very room the day before, "I'm from a little town near Edinburgh, and the poem I'm about to read is called Thunder, I wrote it when I was 15, sat listening to a storm rage outside my bedroom window" He smiled, his Scottish accent alien, but warm and reassuring "Thunder" He began. And suddenly I became aware of how soon it was going to be me stood on that stage.

"William Krudski is our next poet, with a poem entitled 'Ad-rift'" Su's poem had passed as if someone had hit the fast-forward button and suddenly I was onstage, facing the dark crowd.

"This is a very special poem to me" I started after a moment, desperately trying to swallow the lump in my throat. The nerves in my stomach seemed to rattle so loudly I was surprised they didn't drown out the sound of my voice, so meagre within the space of the room.  "I wrote it for an English assignment last year, after our teacher told us that true poetry is not formed out of a long slog at a piece of paper, but a momentary rush of emotion, channelled through the pen" I knew my intro off by heart, I'd had over 24 hours alone to create it, even so I had to take a deep breath before going on, "I attend Rawley Boys School in America, and owe the success of my poem to the person that allowed that one rush of emotion –my roommate Scout Calhoun"

Perhaps it was only in my mind that a hush fell on the audience, but it was not my imagination that created the wide smile on Jack's face, sat perhaps only three paces away from me beside my empty chair. 

It had seemed fitting that I should dedicate this recital to Scout, he was, after all, the person who had set all of this in motion, for without him the emotion within the poem would never have been strong enough to propel it through to the finals of this competition. In the end however Scout had not been the only one who I'd wished it to be dedicated to, but I was secure in the knowledge that my second person of choice would know who he was, and how I felt, the moment I began.

"_Adrift_, by William Krudski" Closing my eyes I could still feel the Jack's presence, sat before me on the bed, even though I could not catch his eye.

 "_I lay listening to the sea-sounds of your breathing_," I seemed to be functioning on three different levels, the first level was how I was then; stood in an auditorium, speaking to a crowd of strangers who knew more about me than my closest friends, the second level however was still stood in Jack's hotel room, reciting a poem I never wanted anyone but my English teacher to read. These two are obvious, the third however is not quite where you would have expected it to be: sat alone and silent in the middle of the New Rawley night channeling my emotion through my pen as I put my feelings down on paper. Instead it rested against Jack's chest, eyes closed, listening to the warmth of his breathing against the top of my head, savoring the sound of his soul.

"_The ebb and flow of air through perfect lips, Washing against my cheek. __The current of your eyes, So powerful I cannot help but be swept away. __By you, Only you_." There were perhaps two people in the entire room that noticed my mistake, the first will have been the man sat in the wings of the stage, the man who had questioned me about the poem's title in the interview room and remembered that I had said that a single line was the key to the entire thing. The second person will have been Jack, the one figure in the room I could not and would not take my eyes from as I spoke, only now having the confidence to keep his eye contact as I bared him my soul once again. 

"_You are my watery death and my steadfast__ saviour__. My rock, I cling to beneath the circling__ vulterous__ seagulls, With their diamond jewelry and overstated wallets, Above the depths of my years._" It was startling, I thought as I neared the end of my poem, how positive the poem had become when I omitted a single line. I finished the poem with a smile, rather than a tear, "_My present, holding me safe_." 

I was only dimly aware of the applause that heralded the end of my poem, eyes too focused on a single figure sat on the front row, a smile on his face as he raised his hands to applaud. It took me a moment, but finally I pulled my gaze from his momentarily as I made my way towards him, back down the steps, to take my place again at his side.

JACK 

I couldn't take my eyes from Will's as he sat, settling himself into his chair and his hand into mine where it lay upturned on the armrest between us. 

"That was brilliant," I whispered, leaning a little too close than was necessary. 

"That was how I feel" His whispered response grazed over my lips, sending a thrill rushing through my body, halted only by the sound of the announcers voice onstage.

"Our penultimate poet is Mr Jack McPhee, here with his poem 'Today'" Forced to move away I slipped my hand from his, moving up to the stage to take the place he had just vacated.

WILL

"So I guess this is goodbye then" His gentle voice snaps me out of my rememberings.

We are stood in the center of his hotel room, arms interlocked around each other's waists, faces back so we can look into the eyes of the other.

"I wish it wasn't," Our eyes hold for a few more seconds, before I lean forward to rest my cheek against the warm, clean smell of his chest. "Thank you" I say on a sigh

"For what?" His head dips to allow his lips to brush the top of my head "For messing up your life?"

"Yeah"

A moment of quiet, before he hides his discomfort with a laugh.

"I'm beginning to feel like the quantum leap guy, jump in, mess everything up, jump out"

"The quantum leap guy didn't work like that," I point out with a smile, without looking up "he jumped in, sorted everything out and jumped out"

Another laugh, "So perhaps I'm not him then"

"No, I think you pretty much described yourself perfectly"

"What do you mean? I've meant nothing but trouble for you"

"You've meant everything to me" I speak quickly, inhaling his scent, warm and comforting against my face. It is a few moments before I draw back, realizing he has not yet replied. I look into his eyes, twinkling with the force of his smile, and the beginnings of tears.

"You know, you really are good with the one liners, too good perhaps"

"Someone has to shut you up" There's a smile on my lips as I speak, and a laugh on his as he replies.

"I think I can think of better ways…"

And our lips meet once again.

JACK

"Guys," A call and a crash and Su careers through the door "Guys, come on you're going to miss your…" She stops suddenly as she spots us and clamps her hand over her eyes. "Okay, I take it I'm interrupting something…"

We laugh, not bothering to move apart, 

"You could say that" Will is the one to reply, leaning over to kiss me once again, the significance of the public act is not lost on me. 

"Okay…You know, I think I preferred you two more when you were both in the closet" This time our laughs were muffled by each others mouths. Will is the one to break away,

"It was only ever me that was in the closet"

"Yeah well, same difference, at least it meant you weren't in front of me!" Silence for a moment, as we continue our initial activities "Okay, you guys, don't think I can't hear you! Do you think its possible for me to have a small conversation with you without the tonsil tennis?"

We laugh and break apart, still unwilling to move from our embrace. I meet Will's eye

"Now that was definitely an American phrase…"

"I have to agree with you there" He replies

"Okay, you got me, I watch far too many American sitcoms, so shoot me. Have you two finished yet?"

"Finished what?" I lean in to kiss him once again

"You know what" Her presence unheeded we continue for a few seconds before I move away.

"Okay, we've stopped, what did you want Su? But make it quick, we're making up for a lot of lost time here, and we don't have long" I couldn't help noticing a flash of sadness cross Wills sky blue eyes.

"That's what I came to talk about, Sophie says you better be downstairs in ten minutes, your plane leaves at five"

"We know" We say together and smile.

"Right, good, my work here is done. I'll see you both downstairs" She turns to leave, theatrically backing out of the room, her hand still clamped firmly across her face "Oh and congratulations Will," She calls as she leaves "you deserved it…"

"Thanks…" His reply is cut short by my lips, gently repossessing his. 

WILL

"You know Su's right" I break away after a few moments, my mind having turned over the conversation that just took place.

"What?" His mouth drops to my neck and shoulders "That we were better in the closet?"

"No, that I deserved to win…"

"Of course you deserved to" I can feel his voice on my chest, and his lips on the sensitive skin of my neck are doing delicious things to my nervous system.

"No, I mean I really deserved it, I went through hell for that poem"

"You call this hell?" He lifts his face to meet my eyes again, a smile on his lips "If this is hell, I'd love to see heaven" He leans forward to recapture my lips, hands running up to the back of my head to wind their way into my short hair.

"You know what I mean" I break off "Just think, you are kissing the 2002 Young International Poet of the Year"

"And damn proud I am of it" He doesn't seem to want to waste any time when doing it either as he leans forward again to meet my lips. I break off moments later, mouth already open to make another comment, but he cuts me off.

"Why is it always you that breaks away?" There's a smile in his eyes.

"Perhaps I'm the only one with control of my libido," I counter almost immediately

"I have control…" He smiles, about to catch my lips again before thinking better of it "This isn't your subtle way of hinting that you want me to pin you against the door and start rapidly parting you with your clothing, is it?"

I laugh, "Don't you dare…"

"We don't have time anyway" He smiles, raising his eyebrows mischievously and I laugh, trying to push him away playfully, but he only holds on tighter.

"And if we did?" I ask, our struggle ceasing.

"You know, I wouldn't try anything…" We're more serious now as our lips meet again. 

Suddenly a knock on the door snaps us back into the present.

"Time to go boys" A call, and suddenly the mood in the room darkens, my heart does a somersault inside my chest.

"We're back to where we started…" I say

"I guess this is goodbye then" Him

"I wish it wasn't" Me. A kiss: long and tender, more passionate and loving than any of the ones that have gone before.

"We can say goodbyes on the plane you know…" Finally we are forced from our embrace, stooping to pick up bags.

"Yeah but not like this" Another kiss the same as the last, this time our bags in hand. Finally we break away and Jack makes a final effort to lighten the mood, my hand reaching for the doorknob as he calls gently, a mischievous note in his voice…

"How about joining the mile high club?"

I can only clip him round the head and join with his laughter as we move out into the hall. 

JACK

EPILOGUE

"So you had quite a time in sunny old England then…" Jen says from her usual place curled up on my floor, I've just finished my tale, through which she has sat perfectly silently.

"You could say that"

"You know, I knew something good was going on when I didn't get a single phone call,"

I laugh, "Yeah, I had a lot on my mind"

"It seems so" We sit in thoughtful silence for a moment, before she asks, "What's happening now?"

"Nothing"

"I mean with you and Will"

"That's what I meant"

"Nothing?" She was dumbstruck "You mean you're just letting this go?"

"What else could I do? He lives God knows how many miles away…" I could feel my anger rise, not at her, at everything.

"Still, you could try, you did completely turn his whole world upside down"

"Long distance relationships never work"

"But…" I wouldn't let her speak, cutting her off.

"They never work…"

Silence for a moment, in which I stare blankly at the wall in front of me, desperate to fight back the urge to scream or cry- I don't know which.

The doorbell does nothing to break me out of my resolve.

"Grams must have forgotten her key again," Jen mumbles as she leaves, the sound of her footsteps muffled against the dark carpet of the hall.

I turn then, glad to be left alone, to face the opposite wall, body curling into a fetal position as my mind casts back, I can almost hear the sound of his voice…

"Jack…?" And then I can.

My head snaps up, tuning to the doorway to find such a familiar figure, swathed in surroundings I never thought I would see him in. Will.

"What, what?" I've lost the ability to string sentences together.

There's smile on his face he drops his bag, holding up a wad of bills and an airline ticket.

"I'm here courtesy of the Young International Poet of the Year Award, we get some privileges us winners, like over $2000"

I laugh, too aware of tears clouding my eyes, too nervous to move towards him in case he is snatched away as quickly as he has appeared. 

He smiles, "We have funding…"

Then finally he is moving toward me, crossing the doorway and the threshold of my life forever. And as we fold perfectly back into one another's arms, I'm reminded of a wish, and of a certain good fairy.


End file.
